


Lady's Eye

by yolkipalki



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Altered Mental States, Apology Wine, Blood, Camping, Delirium, Fever, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Let's Get Drunk and Shit Talk on Nobility, Misunderstandings, Poison, Poisoning, Temporary Madness, WWP, WWP | Whump Without Plot, Wine, wait what plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yolkipalki/pseuds/yolkipalki
Summary: When Geralt returns from a contract to find his employer gone for the night and no coin to be found until she returns, he begrudgingly accepts an apology bottle of wine from a servant and takes it and his bard back to their campsite outside of town.  Jaskier opens the wine and settles in for a long night under the stars of lambasting nobility, only to discover that it's not what they were told it was...OR: it's whump the bard o'clock, do you know where your troubadour is?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	1. The Pay Promised

**Lady’s Eye**

。。。oOo 。。。

Chapter One: The Pay Promised 

By lemon (yolkipalki) 

。。。oOo 。。。

Geralt stood as patiently as he could, trying his best not to snarl at the stench of fear that rolled off of the maid. He was filthy and exhausted and fairly certain he would receive no coin for his troubles. Not that that was new. The contract had seemed like easy money. Geralt should’ve known it was too good to be true. 

“My d-deepest apologies, sir witcher.” The young woman choked on the words, clutching a bottle in her hands as though it were a lifeline. “My lady regretfully was called away upon ur-urgent business and...and sh-she is indisposed at the moment. She...she hopes this token of her gratitude will warm you this night in her absence until she can truly repay you. She thanks you for your service in her name, s-sir witcher.” She threw her head down as she fell into an unrefined bow and shoved the bottle she had been holding into Jaskier’s hands.

The maid refused to look at Geralt, her whole frame shaking like a dry leaf in the wind. With her eyes trained on her worn, linen shoes she took the smallest step forward before deciding Jaskier was probably less likely, or able, to snap her in half. 

“The pay I was promised will be thanks enough.” Geralt spoke plainly. 

If the countess wanted to hide away in her keep and pretend she wasn’t there then he would take his kill elsewhere and move on, as he always had. Without the pay though he simply couldn’t afford a hot meal or a room at the inn.  Being snubbed on a contract was nothing new to Geralt, it was simply a witcher’s lot in life. He wasn’t about to make his evening worse by wallowing on it. Jaskier spun around, fixing his companion with a stern look. Taking a step forward, he held his hand out slowly, his face soft, eyes bright. 

“Forgive him, dear. He’s not the most prolific conversationalist at the best of times, but I’m afraid we are rather weary from our long travels, and of course, from the valiant battle waged against the beasts of darkness that have plagued this land.” 

_ Beasts of darkness, huh?  _ Geralt rolled his eyes. Drowners, they were drowners. He could’ve just said drowners. Geralt grumbled in barely contained exasperation, he knew where this was headed, it was headed where it always went with Jaskier - straight into the bard’s ridiculous, silky pants. 

But Jaskier prattled on, soothing the young woman’s fears until her tears ceased to flow and her hands perched atop his palms like birds.

“Is there anywhere for us to stay for the night? I’m afraid my witcher has wounds that I must tend to. And if I may speak so plainly, the coin afforded from this contract would’ve paid for our stay at the tavern.” He looked up at her with a sheepish smile. “We are but humble travelers, and one learns rather quickly out there that the world is most often cruel and heartless to those who risk their lives to protect it.” 

Jaskier’s words seemed to have the opposite effect he intended. The acrid stench of fear quickly soured and curdled with fresh, peculiar sorrow. She pulled her hands away from the bard, looking up at him with glistening eyes, lashes dripping with fat tears. Before he could pry further the maid curtsied, promising Geralt an audience with the countess in the morning, and scurried away.

So Geralt, with the severed heads in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other, made his way for the gates of the estate, the bard scrambling after him.

。。。oOo 。。。

“Thank you  _ so much  _ for that, by the way,” Jaskier whined as he took a bite of stale bread, pulling off his doublet and laying it over the top of his pack. “You’re used to suffering alone, in fact, I think you revel in self-imposed misery. We have no one to blame but you and your rather disarming lack of personality.” 

Geralt grumbled in response. He had found it was best not to encourage Jaskier. If he responded to the incessant nagging it would only be that much longer before he had any semblance of peace. 

The posted contract had been for an infestation of drowners. Luckily proof of the kill didn’t require that the brains remained intact, those were valuable to a witcher. Geralt set about extracting the organs from the decapitated heads, lost in his task as the bard prattled on. It wasn’t until a dislodged piece of wet bone went flying and hit the bard in the face that Geralt heard him squawking like a dying bird.

"Really? Really, Geralt? Must you do  _ this _ ," Jaskier gestured wildly at the witcher, "where we eat?" 

Geralt snorted, continuing his gruesome work with less than his usual finesse and an excess of ruthlessness. Before long the two men lapsed into a comfortable quiet, Geralt cleaned and tended his armor as Jaskier hummed to himself, scratching away in his notebook. 

“So, what do you think about this countess, hmm?” Jaskier mused as he snatched the bottle of wine from Geralt’s things and turned it over in his hands. “Think she’s trying to avoid paying her dues to the valiant witcher who saved her lands from the beasts of the dark abyss?” 

“Nobles are all the same. They talk too much but never say a damned thing.” Geralt shrugged, scratching his nose with his forearm as he set aside his knife.

“I resent that comment. But, you’re not wrong. The countess is just like any other noble, caught up in her petty games. She’s probably bedding some twopenny duke in some scandalous court affair that will dissolve duchies and counties, collapsing minor political dynasties when it finally comes to light, and thinks herself rather byzantine for it.” 

Geralt hummed. 

“Because, you know, despite what these blundering imbeciles think, they don’t know anything about the world. I should know, I’ve spent my entire life surrounded by them. Perhaps they can see farther from the top of their marble towers, perhaps they’ve even traveled from seaside to seaside in their gilded carriages. But that doesn't mean anything.” He grunted as he pulled the cork from the wine bottle, sniffing it. “They don’t know the harrowing cold of snow-soaked wool in the winter, or the hollow feeling that fills you up three days after your last bite of proper food. They cannot fathom the way people truly live, nor do they particularly care to. Oh, what am I saying? There I go, just rambling on. My point is, Geralt, these things have a way of making themselves known. The wealthy and the powerful always think themselves clever and beyond reproach of any kind, when they’re nothing more than lucky...idiots.” Jaskier took a sip from the bottle. "Oh, well. Hmm.” Jaskier coughed, pursing his lips for a moment before taking another drink of the wine. “That is very sweet. Quite possibly too sweet for my taste. Here, you try it." 

"Only you would complain of wine that is too sweet. You’re impossible." Geralt laughed.

“Please Geralt, do continue to tell me how impossible I am. You know I rather enjoy hearing how unbearable you find my presence, darling.” The bard scowled and took a heavy swig. “In fact, that is my true life’s work, my dear witcher. Forget the singing of songs, the strumming of strings, the spinning of stories, the...the - I have found my calling in this abysmal swamp, my purpose. And it...it is to cause you more misery than you thought possible...ever to - Rather impressive considering your penchant for woe, is it not?” His voice was beginning to soften and slur. 

“Aren’t you already doing that?” The witcher quirked an eyebrow, awaiting the melodramatic response but none came. For long moments the silence stretched on. He hadn’t meant to, and yet he found himself calling the bard’s name, tentative and cautious. Once, then twice...

But Jaskier didn’t respond. He was standing now, swaying unsteadily as the neck of the bottle slowly slipped from his grasp. From across the fire, Geralt could see splotches of red and purple beginning to pool beneath the skin of his face and throat like bruises. 

“Fuck...G-Geralt...I-” 

Sheer instinct, abetted by witcher reflexes, carried Geralt across the fire quick enough to catch the bard as he crumpled. 

"Damned human lightweights," Geralt muttered under his breath. Then a frown tugged at his lips. He'd traded human constitution for witcher resilience well before he'd been of an age to do much hard-drinking, so he didn't have much sense of what a human should or shouldn't be able to drink. But...he'd seen Jaskier drink far more than this without so much as a single slur or stumble before. The sweetness of the wine shouldn't affect his tolerance that much, should it? 

"Jaskier?" He said, watching uneasily as the man's head lolled almost comically with each shift as Geralt laid him down. It had begun as a vague uneasiness and had grown into a deafening echo howling in his mind. This was wrong. Something was very wrong. 

He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer, taking a careful breath to see what he could discern from changes in Jaskier's scent. The scent of blood bloomed as it began to trickle from the bard’s nose and down the side of his mouth, dribbling down his throat.

_ Fuck.  _

The strange sweetness of the wine, the near-instantaneous descent into mumbling and weakness, the dark blotchy flush beneath his skin, that scent. Geralt lifted the bottle from the dirt and brought it to his nose, cursing under his breath. 

Jaskier wasn't drunk, he was fucking poisoned, poisoned by something potent and concentrated enough to incapacitate a mutant. Something frigid and wicked slithered up Geralt’s spine as he stared down at the human seizing in his arms. 

Such a fragile thing, a human who'd unwittingly drunk poison intended to kill a witcher.

What were the odds he could save him? The souring realization curled around the back of his mind, it was unlikely at best. 

He had to try anyway.


	2. Imbroglio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the guise of wine, an apology from a client for a delay in payment, Jaskier unwittingly drinks poison intended for Geralt. As the fever takes hold and Jaskier sinks into a deepening delirium, all Geralt can do is try to treat the symptoms and pray that Jaskier is strong enough to pull through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that there is a rather deep misunderstanding between Geralt and the very delirious, incredibly poisoned bard. Jaskier misinterprets Geralt’s actions as a prelude to sexual assault and reacts accordingly. If you wish to skip this bit then stop reading at the “жжжжжж” and pick back up at the next set of “жжжжжж”. Please mind the tags and the notes.

Lady’s Eye 

。。。oOo 。。。

Chapter Two: Imbroglio

By lemon (yolkipalki) 

。。。oOo 。。。

The world threatened to slip from beneath Geralt’s feet as he clung to Jaskier’s limp body, the wine soaking into the soil like blood.  The witcher lifted the bottle to his nose, the contents all but spilled into the dirt. What little was left of the poison was so dark it was nearly opaque. Geralt pulled away from the bottle, the cloying scent was nauseating. He tossed the bottle in the dirt and pulled Jaskier closer. 

This time it hadn’t been the bard’s notoriously caviling taste. The wine was too sweet because it wasn't wine at all, it was a poison, concentrated and fermented as wine would be. Jaskier was already delirious, the temperature of his body steadily climbing as his heart pounded and his breathing became frantic. Geralt didn’t have time to make certain of the contents of the bottle, Jaskier’s condition was deteriorating far too rapidly. 

His best guess was Lady’s Eye, an incredibly poisonous plant. It was expensive, dangerous to procure, deadly, and not nearly enough to kill a witcher ...more than enough to kill a human, though. Impossibly fragile things, sometimes Geralt wondered how they had managed to survive so long. 

He cupped the side of Jaskier’s face. Heat rolled off of him in waves and he should’ve been drenched in sweat but he wasn’t. In fact, he wasn’t sweating at all, his skin was dry as a reed save for the dark blood that dribbled from his nose. 

"Fuck."

The cool touch of Geralt’s palm against his skin pulled Jaskier back to the brink of lucidity. His eyes fluttering open before scrunching shut again rather suddenly once more. 

“It hurts, oh fuck... please, no...” Jaskier wailed frantically. “Please…stop...” He dug at his throat and chest with his nails as if he were trying to pry shards of glass from his skin. 

  
  
  


“Jaskier, stop!” The words came out much harsher than he had intended them to but it didn’t seem to matter - Jaskier didn’t hear him. Geralt tried to pull Jaskier’s hands away, red staining his fingernails as he dug into skin. The witcher pinned him down as gently as he could. 

Lady’s Eye was rare. Geralt knew of it only from a botanical he had skimmed in the library at Kaer Morhen one dreary winter. It had once been used in incredibly diluted doses to dilate the eyes of court women, a dangerous trend that drove many maidens to madness. He had been absentmindedly thumbing through the pages, reading passages here and there. He only stopped on that particular page because of the horrid illustration of a man tearing out his own eyes, screaming in agony. 

Jaskier had been the one person stupid enough to follow him, idiotic enough to throw himself blindly into danger, and then for some gods-forsaken reason run to Geralt for protection and comfort time after time. And here he was, flinching away from Geralt’s touch as he begged for mercy.

It was all of the sudden too much for Geralt: Jaskier,  _ Jaskier  _ who had never flinched away, not on that fateful day in Posada when Geralt had struck him, and not since. He had always been a tender touch when no one else was. He had filled the numbing silence...infuriatingly so, had stitched wounds, brewed potions, darned socks, time and time again. He had cared for Geralt in ways no one ever had. And the witcher had never quite known what to do with it. He found it best not to think about it too much...or at all. But now that tender touch was all he could think about.

Somewhere in his delirium, he believed Geralt meant him harm. Hurt and an unacknowledged viciously suppressed vein of fear collided in his chest and like a stone and flint, sparked anger. “Damn it, Jaskier!”

The bard froze, struggling to comply as he spasmed, tears slipping from his fluttering lashes, down the crests of his cheeks, and into his hair. 

“Jaskier. Jaskier, look at me.” He pulled the bard’s eyes open a little more forcefully than he had meant to. The pupils were blown wide, the glassy blue nearly swallowed entirely by black. As the light reached them, Jaskier stopped suddenly as if struck, then rather suddenly he seized, his eyes rolling back into his head. 

Geralt swiftly pulled his tunic over his head and bit down on the black, worn fabric. With his teeth, he ripped several strips of cloth from the hem and wrapped them around the bard’s eyes one by one until his eyes were shielded from the evening light. 

Jaskier’s pupils couldn’t seem to constrict on their own, unaffected by the light of the fire and the brilliant glow of dusk that bathed the forest in purple hues. If Geralt didn’t cover his eyes the light could drive him to utter madness or even blind him. 

For a moment the blindfold seemed to ease his suffering, but his heart rate never slowed, still fluttering dangerously fast. 

“Don’t you dare touch her…” He slurred. “Don’t...don’t touch her. I swear to the...to Meli-...I’ll kill you myself Valdo…” 

Geralt swallowed the lump that sat in the back of his throat and tried to remember the words he had read so many winters ago. It was one of the herbs used by the Viper school to poison their blades. The treatment for Lady’s Eye was rarely successful, but it didn’t matter, he didn’t have time to search the forest for the particular fungus that could be used as a counter to the poison and Geralt couldn’t counter the poison with any herb or potion he had with him. Inducing vomiting would only spread the poison and kill the human faster. His best chance was to treat the symptoms as best he could, and hope Jaskier was strong enough to pull through.

There was a rhyme in the book... if he could just remember the fucking rhyme. 

_ As hot as the ashes and -  _

Jaskier’s back arched off the ground and his hands flew to his face, adrenaline flooding his poisoned blood as he clawed at the blindfold. 

“Jaskier, stop!” Geralt yelled, clamping a hand down the fingers that dug at the fabric.

Rather suddenly Jaskier ceased his struggling, his breathing stopped altogether for a moment too long before it started sporadically once more, shallow and growing faster. The bruise-like color continued to spread from his cheeks down this throat and chest, like ink soaking a piece of parchment. 

_ Red as a rose… a rose… _

_ As hot as the ashes and dry as a bone, _

_ Blind as a bat and red as a rose _

He couldn’t seem to remember the rest, lost in Jaskier’s breathing. The silence was heavy and Geralt bent beneath it. He had managed to get Jaskier to take several sips from the waterskin before slipping back into the deepening delirium as the fever took hold. The final line of the rhyme came to him suddenly, like ice through his veins. 

_ Mad as a March hare then still as a stone _

The summer was drawing to a close but the weather was warm enough that the rivers were not yet frigid. They had camped not far from a tributary. Before he had finished the thought Geralt was on his feet, Jaskier cradled in his arms. 

。。。oOo 。。。

He carried the human to the banks of the river, easily pulling the bard’s boots from his feet and casting them aside. Mindful of the improvised blindfold, he pulled Jaskier’s tunic over his head. Jaskier let out a stuttered gasp, mumbling incoherently as he shivered and twitched. Geralt fumbled with the laces of the other man’s trousers, his steady hands faltering for the first time.

жжжжжж

“P-please...I’ll be good. Please. I want to be good...I can, I can.” Jaskier whimpered, his trembling arms trying their best to push Geralt away. The stench of fear was suffocating, mingled with the spice of fever and poison.

Jaskier landed a rather solid and unexpected knee to Geralt’s face, blindly tripping over his wobbling legs. He didn’t quite make it to his feet before he collapsed once more on the flat of his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. The blow to the face was more surprising than anything and it only slowed the witcher for a moment. He cursed as he caught Jaskier by the ankle, dragging him back, wrestling to straddle him and pin him down. 

His mind lingered on just how dangerously high the fever had grown, how deep the delirium, how unnatural and horrid the color that bloomed beneath the skin, like wine stains on linen parchment, how rapid and sporadic his heartbeat. He was deteriorating at a frightening pace.

He was running out of time... _ Jaskier _ was running out of time. 

_ Breathe.  _

_ The fever first. Break the fever.  _

Jaskier’s chest rattled as he gasped for air that never quite reached his lungs. He babbled on slipping in and out of foreign tongues as he struggled to break free of the hands that held him down. 

"Damn it, stop struggling!" Geralt shouted in frustration, with one hand he held Jaskier’s arms pinned to the bard’s chest as he yanked the trousers off with the other hand. With trembling lips, the bard complied. 

"Pl-please… please...no...no, no, no please," Jaskier wept quietly and his voice broke as he choked on the words. “I...I don’t want to. Please don’t make me...I can be good. I’ll be better this time, I promise. Please. I can. I can be quiet, I promise.” 

жжжжжж

Geralt gave pause as he gathered up Jaskier in his arms and stepped into the current. 

The words stung like a slap across the face. Tears seeped through the cloth that covered the bard’s eyes as he loosened his shaking grip on Geralt's wrist. 

And Geralt suddenly understood it for what it was. The sinking realization settled in his gut like a stone and he swallowed heavily to fight the wave of nausea. Jaskier had resigned himself to his fate, to the mercy of the man who was... 

It was painful to hear in ways he couldn't articulate. He willed his muscles to move, willed himself to finish what he had started. He didn’t have a choice, the fever had to break and it wouldn’t if Jaskier couldn’t sweat. But Jaskier didn’t understand and Geralt didn’t have time to explain. 

“N-no, no, no, no...Jaskier.” The words felt punched from his chest and he couldn't breathe. Suddenly he needed to explain himself, to repeat the words again and again until somewhere in Jaskier’s addled mind he understood that Geralt wouldn’t...that he could never…

He wasn’t a monster. But...wasn’t he?

Jaskier had always believed that beneath the knotted scars and hardened muscle that Geralt truly was something more than a monster. With wide-eyed wonder the boy had followed him, though try as he might Geralt was never rid of him for long. In all the ways Jaskier had changed over the years, the weight to his shoulders, the surety of his fingers, the tiredness around his bright eyes, Jaskier still clung to the foolish, sentimental idea that Geralt was a good man. 

And on occasion over those long years, Geralt had, in moments of silence and solitude, entertained the idea...that possibly his existence had not, in fact, been reduced to the hum of silver and the black blood of beasts. That somehow, someway there was a thread of humanity left in him. Clearly, he’d been wrong. He swallowed the sour feeling that slithered up the back of his throat. Brushing the hair tenderly from Jaskier’s forehead, he let his hand cup Jaskier’s cheek, thumbing the tear-soaked fabric that shielded his eyes. 

"Jaskier...I have to." The words were so soft that Geralt barely recognized his own voice. He had hesitated long enough to sate his own guilt. Trudging further into the river, he held Jaskier tight as his body convulsed, the current tugging gently at the witcher’s heels. 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all thanks to everyone who reads my stuff and comments, you are the gasoline to my dumpster fire brain and you complete me.
> 
> And thank you, as always, to the lovely Jadelyn for being my sounding board, my partner in crime, and the sole caretaker with full custody of my single brain cell, without you, I would never complete any projects or have any confidence to share my shitpost crack ideas. Bless, bb thanks for pleeffeef in me. 
> 
> Long story short, was doing research on biochem, thanochem, and poisons for some classes which led me down a rabbit hole about poisons. So of course, I had to write a poison fic one-shot that became a two...shot? Anyways, for those interested the poison "Lady's Eye" is based off of Atropa belladona with some variations. 
> 
> It's going to get intense so buckle up kiddos, I will be adding notes as pertinent warnings come up in the next chapter. I hope you enjoy! Stay sexy and don't get murdered, babes!


End file.
